


Desirable

by klismaphilia, mechayourown



Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Smut, Superior-Subordinate Relationship, godfather is somewhat oblivious, innuendos, love is serious, mafioso is a sassy little shit, sex on a desk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 02:31:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4330443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/klismaphilia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechayourown/pseuds/mechayourown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What's wrong, sir, get a bit too lonely without little old me around?" Town of Salem oneshot, Godfather x Mafioso, cowritten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desirable

**Author's Note:**

> town of salem should be called town of gay-lem because we are m/m trash.  
> roleplay-esque again. mech is godfather and mooncake is mafio-so sassy mafioso.
> 
> Mafioso: Mafio-so fine.  
> Godfather: Mafio-so mine.

The town didn't understand their purpose. Fact was, the town was littered with segregation and lies of false peace. Witches had to burn and any kind of insane, wrongful person has to burn with it for "disrupting the peace". There was so much commotion when the godfather ordered the killing of town member, but for the masked vigilante or psychotic jailor to kill a town was a call for tears and forgiveness. 

It was amusing, the man pondered, how his meeting with the sheriff last night had gone off without a hitch. The sheriff was a rather naive fool, and the man was completely confident that the sheriff hadn't had the slightest clue who he was or what he did. That was the entire point; the godfather was the brains behind the operation, hoping to one day radiate the town of the biases that plagued it. Or, well, that's what he told himself — sometimes he wondered if it was just a means to morally approve all the killing and trickery he was doing. 

The godfather rubbed his forehead. He had ordered the mafioso to go kill the town retributionist and was waiting for all the filed reports – who the consigliere had visited, what was new with the consort, framer, and if the mafioso's job was done. Until then, the godfather would just sit idly and wait. 

He would be lying to say he wasn't stressed or worried. The godfather truly did care about the make-shift family that had formed. More so, with the death of their prized blackmailer from the veteran, he couldn't stop the worry that something would go wrong. But he knew that wasting the night in a ball of stress and worries wouldn't do him any good. Instead, he returned to the investigation reports on his desk and began to re-read through them as he waited.

The mafioso blew on the end of his gun, rubbing the metal surface with his shirt. The fact that it was tarnished bothered him more than anything else. Like he'd told the godfather, killing was, actually, one of his least favorite things to do. But for his godfather, he would do things that he wouldn't have even contemplated while growing up.

Eventually he'd begun to fantasize, about the blood, the echo of the bullet resounding through the house of his unfortunate victim, the sight something that fascinated him for reasons he couldn't explain. He carried out his kills as though they were an execution; blindfolded them, sat them down, made a quick shot to the back of the head. Efficient.

It was always to make him proud.

The mafioso had found himself addicted to even the slightest compliment that left the godfather's lips. He admired the way he sat, still and calm and ever so stoic, eyes downward, a brilliant blue that he'd often seen trained on the mafia with a greater sense of affection than the man had seemed capable of. He didn't ever tell him- anyone, really- that he wanted those eyes trained solely on him, that he shook whenever the godfather sent him a particularly mesmerizing glance. He was thrilled by the fact that the godfather's hand, when it wrapped around his back or patted his on the shoulder, could have just as easily strangled the life from his lungs, snapped his neck.

He stood in front of the godfather now, his head slightly bowed, unable to meet those brilliant eyes as he waited for the godfather to say something- anything.

He glanced briefly at those long, perfect fingers, his unblemished hands, lacking the callouses the mafioso had. The way he moved, every motion he made was entrancing. The mafioso had long since known that he was in love with the godfather; he couldn't deny it.

"It's done. Better than what you asked for," he commented nonchalantly. "Of course, not that one would expect any differently. It is me we're talking about here."

The godfather kept his eyes trained on the mafioso as he listened. A small, amused laugh made its way past his lips and he allowed himself to take in the mafioso. 

His underling. The one person he had personally trained to kill, fight, and take orders. The godfather held a fondness for his entire set of followers, but the mafioso was the closest to him. He, himself, never was quite sure where he wanted them to stand relationship wise. Like brothers, or father and son, or something entirely else. The mafioso was pleasing to look at; nice cheek bones, emotional eyes, soft hair. But to have any kind of lovers’ relationship with an underling was unprofessional. The godfather would never bring it up. Not until, perhaps, they won. 

The godfather smiled, leaning back in his chair. The mafioso always was the first one done. He would stay in his office, welcome, until the others arrived with their reports and left. But come morning, they had to separate. "I wouldn't expect anything less," he mentioned, voice coming out smoothly. "Good job tonight."

The words resounded in the mafioso's ears. 'Good job tonight.' The godfather thought he had done well. He was proud. The mafioso's gaze flicked to those icy blue eyes, staring at him with a gaze that he couldn't quite read properly. He swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. The godfather was watching him. He hadn't turned his gaze away yet, hadn't moved, simply sat there, appraising him...

It felt like an eternity, the mafioso's heart beating faster in his chest, before the godfather's gaze fell back on his paperwork. 

He fiddled with the ring on his left hand behind his back, turning around, walking toward the door in a hurry to exit without any fuss, no questions asked or further comments made, just in case the godfather could see the pink in his cheeks, the way he'd averted his gaze so obviously.

He'd never questioned the godfather, never backtalked him, nothing aside from his occasional sarcasm, sassy remarks that the godfather had seemed to enjoy. The mafioso felt that they were close- surely they were, nobody else in the mafia, let alone the town, was able to spend time like this with the godfather, was able to hear that praise or watch the way dark hair fell into his blue eyes, fingers strumming on the side of the mahogany desk...

"Are you going somewhere tonight?" the godfather found himself asking. The mafioso rarely left directly after a report. He tended to favor sitting with him in silence. It was necessary, really. If the godfather were to ever be… handicapped, or killed, the mafioso would take his place. It was purely professional. 

(Not really. The godfather liked the mafioso's company. He liked the way he seemed to puff out a little every time he received a compliment, or the way he occasionally sassed back.)

The mafioso was one of the key components to the mafia. Never, the godfather knew, would he intentionally replace him. The godfather would have to die before a new mafioso could be named. 

"You should remain here until the reports are finished," the godfather mentioned, only slightly looking up from the days old paperwork. The mafioso was frozen in the doorway, cheeks tinted pink. Cute. The smile on his face broadened into a smirk. "The consigliere is probably on their way, as is the consort. I'd prefer it if you could remain here and listen." That, and the godfather just loved the silent and curious company of his underling. The mafioso was always welcome in his office. 

Really, the godfather was attached. He knew he shouldn't be, but he couldn't help it. If the mafioso were to die, then the godfather would personally go on a rage hunt throughout the town and murder anyone and everyone responsible. It was like an addiction that only seemed to grow worse the more time they spent together. And the godfather didn't mind.

"What's wrong, sir, get a bit too lonely without little old me around?" The mafioso replied, fixing his smirk back in place, but doing as the man requested, sharply striding across the floor to the chair beside the godfather's desk, taking a seat, head thrown back to stare up at the ceiling, intentionally avoiding meeting the godfather's eyes. But the godfather was preoccupied anyway; he paid little attention to his subordinate’s lingering gazes. 

The mafioso looked up again, gaze falling on the godfather's gentle grasp around his pen, unfazed, barely even looking up as he continued to go through the reports.

The mafioso let out a slight chuckle, unintentionally, the godfather's eyes glancing over to him questioningly. "Oh, it's nothing," he said, quickly. "I was just...remembering the time the framer framed you and you woke up with a bunch of mafia notes surrounding your bed." He commented, the godfather letting a slight smile play on his lips at the memory, the mafioso grasping at straws for what to say.

He liked to keep his godfather amused. The man's smile was contagious, as rare as it was to be seen.

"Well, if you don't mind," he stated. "I think I'll just sit over here and...polish my gun." He hoped the godfather appreciated the less than subtle innuendo. Rather audacious of himself, the mafioso considered, but left it at that, loosening his tie as he raised an eyebrow, still glancing to the godfather every so often, as he planned to spend the majority of their night in silence, as usual.

The godfather smirked at the innuendo, but he didn't react more than that. He wasn't sure if it was meant as a joke or something more serious, but either way, it wasn't his place to initiate something until after they succeeded. If the mafioso desired to establish a relationship prior to then… it was all on him. 

His professionalism, mannerism, and desire to destroy the town came first to him. He wasn’t going to change until it was called for, no matter how badly he wanted to set firm their relationship. Friends? Lovers? Brothers? He would attempt flirting, but it… didn't flow easily. He was better with being blunt and affirmative.

The relaxed, easy silence was nice and simple. At one point, the framer came in and said his job was done (framing the jester, apparently), but the others had yet to report. After a while of staring at the same files, the godfather found himself growing increasingly bored. He pushed the files away and leant back in his seat, letting out a small, deep sigh that gained the mafioso's attention. "Who would you rather kill tomorrow?" he asked, starting up a conversation. "The escort or the sheriff?"

"Who's the greater threat?" The mafioso asked, affirming his answer without really answering. The sheriff it was, then, and he could take care of it easily. He would kill the woman, and he would love every second of it; the godfather already knew he would.

Maybe there had come a point, he mused, when he no longer had to pretend to enjoy it, the thrill of killing a townie, someone who the godfather said deserved it. But when had the point come where he had to pretend that he was nothing more than the simple second-in-command, a powerful one, one who wasn't in love with his boss? 

The godfather sighed again, the mafioso's eyebrow quirking in response, only to be shoved off by a simple shake of the head. The godfather licked his lips, peeling back the last of the reports, the mafioso wondering how those lips would feel over his, what the godfather tasted like. He wondered what it would be like to have those blue eyes trained solely on him, to feel those hands touching him, to lick the salt from that man's skin....

The door swung open suddenly, interrupting the man's musings as the consigliere walked into the room, her head held high.

The change in the godfather happened instantly. The consigliere herself hadn't even noticed as he went from relaxed and mildly open to professional and charming. His smirk and grin were replaced with a serious frown. "What have you got for me?" he demanded, mentally knowing it as to be good. She rarely walked in like she owned the place; last time she had it was because she discovered the transporter. 

"Just the mother fucking jailor," the consigliere chimed, slapping down the full report on his desk. "You're welcome." 

Her sass sometimes bugged him. It wasn't like the mafioso's, who was more funny and did it for the purpose of amusing the godfather. She sassed when she seemed to think that her work one-upped everyone else's. He caught her smug glance to the mafioso, noticed her prideful stride, and it somewhat grated on him. 

He was fairly sure his opinion of the consigliere was only obvious to his favorite underling. "Well done," he complimented. "You can go now."

The mafioso couldn't help the smirk that was brought to his lips as the godfather dismissed the consigliere as easily as he had the framer, with little more than a few simple words before returning to silence. Positive that the other's eyes were focused on their sister, the mafioso took the chance to admire the well trimmed look of his suit, well defined and wolfish features, not a hair on his head out of place, the absolute epitome of perfection.

The godfather had to know. 

The mafioso couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine as the godfather finally turned his eyes away from the closing door, letting them fall back on his beloved second-in-command, motioning with a finger before pointing to the new folder on his desk, the mafioso presuming that meant a new target. The godfather's face was close enough that his breath hit the mafioso's neck, warm and husky.

The mafioso could feel how close he was. He wanted to...to do something, anything, wanted to hear more of that rich praise, wanted to be the sole focus of the godfather's attention. The rest of the mafia could easily force a surge of envy to go through the mafioso's chest, but whenever the godfather spoke to them, it was reduced to a mere spark. Nobody else was allowed. Nobody else mattered to the godfather the way he did, he thought, allowing himself to believe for the briefest of moments that the godfather could return his feelings.

He sighed, shakily.

The godfather frowned at the sigh. "Something the matter?" he inquired, allowing the scent of the mafioso to rush through him. The gunpowder and oil, a bit hardy, but it was more of a turn on than the godfather had originally anticipated. Thankfully, he was the master of straight faces and controlling his emotions. 

He scanned the first page of the file, not the least bit surprised to learn who the jailor was. The sadistic freak would die tomorrow night by the hands of his underling. He noticed how the mafioso seemed to be shaking a little, his breaths uneven. 

Was he ill? The mafioso rarely got ill; the godfather tried to make sure of that. Perhaps he knew the jailor? But why would he? He spent all of his time with the godfather. Sick it was, then. 

He lifted up a hand and placed it against the mafioso's temple. It wasn't burning up, thankfully. He brought his hand down, locking eyes with the mafioso. His face was a bit pink, but his eyes weren’t red and he didn't have a fever… Something else, then? Or…? 

The godfather was far from oblivious. He remained still. This was the mafioso's decision. However he would react. Whether he'd pull away, or say something, or lean in. The godfather would support it tenfold.  
The mafioso wasn't one to be shy, or modest, or anything of that nature. He could feel himself flushing, the godfather's gaze entirely on him, taking in the intense gaze, reveling in it, really. This was what he'd wanted, and the godfather sat there with an assured smirk on his face. He hadn't been oblivious after all.

The mafioso didn't admit that every time that door opened, he'd wanted to scream, but it really seemed now as though there was nothing else that could possibly come between them, nothing that would stop them if he decided to act. And the godfather was sitting there, patiently, waiting.

The mafioso, a bit unsure, sat on the edge of the godfather's desk, fiddling with his tie, before meeting the godfather's eyes. He didn't want to admit that he hadn't been at all prepared for this; he was untidy, a mess in front of the one man he'd wanted to impress the most.

But his godfather didn't seem to mind. In fact, he simply sat there, eyebrow raised, appraising as usual, waiting for the mafioso to confirm the suspicions he’d apparently been contemplating.

The mafioso leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to the godfather's lips, before pulling back, waiting for a response- something, anything. The godfather was still and just as unfazed as before. The mafioso couldn't help but let out a laugh at that; of course he wouldn't react. He never reacted, always calm and polished... he sat forward a little bit, pressing their lips together again, opening his mouth a little at the contact, entranced by the way the godfather's hands moved up to settle around his waist, the mafioso's hand moving from where it was braced on the desk to fist in the fabric of the godfather's suit as he pressed his tongue against the older man's, humming a little into the kiss.

The godfather was more than pleased with this. The skin of the mafioso's that was just under the hem of his shirt was smooth and cool to the touch. The feel of his tongue against his was euphoric, causing him to smile into the kiss. The hum that vibrated through the mafioso’s mouth into his own was a transfer of sound, the godfather returning with his own light laugh. 

He played with the mafioso's waistband, never really pulling it down but toying with it enough to let his fingers graze the skin under it. The godfather slid his hands around to his underling's ass, gripping it firmly enough to draw out a small gasp. He smirked, pulling away a bit so that the mafioso could see his face — the smirk, the joy in his eyes — and so he could glance at the flustered, happy look of his new lover. 

The mafioso had made his choice and he wasn't allowed to back out on it. 

He dived back in, this time kissing with more dominance than the kiss made prior. He lifted the mafioso off the floor a tad, just enough to seat him gently on his desk over the useless paperwork.

"Not worried you're going to ruin this lovely mahogany?" The mafioso snarked as the godfather parted their lips, staring into his eyes with a heated expression that made the mafioso shift, not out of discomfort, but out of eagerness, his hands cupping either side of the godfather's face, before glancing down, smirking. "Well, I suppose there's other wood that should be taken care of...more intimately than this desk."

He could feel the godfather's warm hands, long fingers teasing the hem of his pants, hand slipping past the waistband finally, drawing a muted groan from the mafioso as the man grasped hold of his ass, his own hand reach down boldly to palm the bulge in his superior's pants. He let out an involuntary shiver, anticipating his next move as the godfather's lips latched onto the side of his neck, teeth grazing his rather light skin, the mafioso taking the chance to run his hands across the godfather's rather toned figure, before he leaned back further. The papers scattered as his back hit the desk firmly, enough of a thud that, mixed with the ministrations of the godfather, the mafioso felt his breath practically taken away.

Hurriedly, he worked at the buttons of his shirt, letting the reddish fabric fall open, exposing his unblemished chest. His hands tugged on the godfather's tie, pulling him closer, before placing another kiss to swollen lips, taking the initiative to explore the godfather's mouth, reveling in the taste of rich wine and the scent of ink. The godfather's hands grasped the mafioso's, pinning his wrists to the hard surface, the mafioso grinning at him.

"I like it when you stare at me like that," he said, simply, not struggling at his position in the slightest.

The godfather smirked. "Do you like it when all of my attention is on you?" he questioned, tilting his chin up to look down at him. He slid his hands along the mafioso's arms and up to his shoulders before letting them slide off. He undid his tie slowly, the powerful smile never leaving his face. "Do you like it when I send everyone else out of the room except for you?" 

He snapped the tie off his neck, placing it on the edge of the desk. "I like it… when you try to please me," he whispered lowly, leaning in closer. His hands, once again, moved to the mafioso's on the desk, pressing on them firmly. He wasn't exactly sure which of them initiated this one, but they were kissing again. The mafioso's body arched into his, resulting in the godfather pushing his hips against the mafioso's spread legs. Even from that, the godfather's cock sent a rather pleasurable tingle throughout his body, encouraging more. He was already hard — that much was certain. 

He let go of the mafioso's hands to reach for the tie. The mafioso had moved his hands up to his hair, threading them between the perfect locks as the kiss kept going. Teeth grazing, tongues clashing, lip biting; there was an apparent amount of unresolved sexual tension. The godfather grabbed the mafioso's wrists, effortlessly sliding the tie around them and placing it in a firm knot behind his back. 

He pulled away, meeting the mafioso's grin with his own. He was in control; he was always in control.

"Don't you know that pleasing you is the only thing I care about?" The mafioso asked, tilting his head back as the godfather trailed kisses from the corner of his mouth over his well-defined jawline, down to his exposed collarbone, before nipping at the skin in a way that had the mafioso's back arching. His legs wrapped around the godfather's waist, hands tied together, fingers grasping at anything he could reach as his pants were quickly worked over slim hips.

The mafioso could feel the pleasant tingling throughout his body as the godfather's hands smoothed over his firm thighs, the mafioso's legs practically trembling from the anticipation of what was to come. The godfather was his- finally, there was no denying it now, and nothing was ever going to separate them.

His godfather's hand stroked the base of his cock, before working up the shaft as he opened his desk drawer, pulling a small bottle out from the side, causing the mafioso's eyebrows to raise. "Do this often?" He asked, before hissing, "But you're mine." He couldn't help the jealousy that seeped through into his voice, but his thoughts suddenly slipped as the godfather slicked his fingers with the lubricant, the mafioso shuddering at the thought of the godfather touching him so intimately.

He craved it.

The godfather let out a small chuckle. "Not as often as we will," he muttered, spreading the the lube around his fingers. "And you're mine, more so now than ever." He pushed one finger into the mafioso, listening contently to the desperate whine. He hummed, moving the digit around a bit before having another finger join in, digging deeper into his subordinate’s body. 

"Just so you know, I don't fuck just anyone," he chimed idly, feeling the shudders of the mafioso with each movement of his fingers. "I've just been taking precautions." A third finger joined in, stretching even more. A couple of movements in and the tremble from the mafioso told him he’d found what he was looking for. He smirked, grazing it every so often just to be a tease, fingers curling inside the mafioso’s stretched hole before pulling his hand away. 

The godfather unbuttoned his pants, moving them down enough that his cock could be freed. It dropped lightly, having been ready for a rather solid time to fuck the mafioso long and hard. He grinned, lathering some lube on it before placing himself in front of the mafioso. The air was tense, a bit chilly, but that was going to change very soon.

The mafioso shuddered, the chill of the air in the room causing him to feel even more exposed than he was, practically naked in front of the godfather. His godfather. A sense of inadequacy hit him suddenly, as the godfather's hot hands traveled over his body, one hand bracing on the back of his neck as he slipped further in between the mafioso's legs, his slick cock pressing against the mafioso's body.

In a few seconds, he was pressing in, even the tip causing the mafioso to tremble, a little whine slipping out as he shifted his hands behind the godfather's back, head tilting back as he felt the other filling him, legs tensing up on either side of the godfather's waist. His nails dug into the fabric of his restraint, eyelids fluttering back and forth, the godfather's hands steadied on his hips. He pulled back, suddenly, the mafioso shoving forward, trying to further the contact, before the godfather was thrusting forward, causing a shrill moan to leave the mafioso's parted lips.

"Fuck- agh," the mafioso groaned, the godfather's next thrust sped up from the first, his back arching into the movement, chest hitting against the godfather's lightly as his eyes shut, grasping at something- anything- in order to ground himself. He felt helpless, not like he usually was, and it offered a kind of high the mafioso hadn't thought possible. He was at the will and disposal of his godfather. Completely.

The thought caused him to let out a rather loud and unabashed moan at the godfather's perfectly timed thrust, digging into his prostate enough that the mafioso's body shuddered with pleasure. His fingers were curling and uncurling as he attempted to tug the godfather in closer with his legs, breathing shaky and uneven. He gasped at the contact, thrusting himself upwards against the godfather, the hand formerly on his hip raising to stroke the side of his face with more care than he'd imagined.

The godfather leaned forward, connecting their lips with passion. The pure euphoria he felt from just being inside the mafioso was more than a sexual high. The sweat that was accumulating, the tightness surrounding him, the husky scent in the air, the moans that came from both of their mouths… 

The town slipped from his mind. The other mafia members, his family, didn't matter anymore. Just the feel of the mafioso's cheek bones, his hair, his tongue, was going to be enough to drive the godfather over the edge. But the mafioso had to come first; it was a fact, required… the underlings always came first, sexually or otherwise. 

One hand slipped from the mafioso's face down to his cock, stroking softly at first and drawing a long, throaty moan from him. The godfather smirked against his lips before thrusting more roughly, driving his body into that pleasurable spot, the mafioso’s shuddering presented with a long groan that left the godfather smirking as he began to pump his subordinate in sync with his thrusts. His tongue swiped along the other’s teeth before he pulled back, lightly nibbling the mafioso’s lip before moving to his neck and thoroughly assaulting it with licks and bites. 

His. The mafioso was his underling, his lover, companion, killer, servant, sex slave, whatever he damn well pleased. His marks proved this, just as the scent that would forever linger.

The mafioso's moaning only escalated, drawn out with each languid movement the godfather made, with each carefully placed stroke to his throbbing shaft, his body trembling underneath the godfather, eyes wide as he arched yet again, a loud groan leaving his mouth. The sheer ecstasy that was coursing through his body was more than enough to send him over the edge, his muscles clenching tightly around his godfather's length, shaking as his bound hands attempted to bring the godfather closer.

The mafioso felt himself shuddering, rapidly, fire coiling in the pit of his stomach, his vision momentarily fuzzy as the godfather made another well-positioned thrust directly into his sweet spot, the mafioso clinging to the older man as he let out a rather sharp yell. He went over the edge, white spilling across his stomach and onto the godfather's perfect fingers, grasping him with enough force that another moan passed the mafioso's bruised lips before he went still.

The godfather felt the tight clench and sped up. The mafioso's cry and release didn't stop him from thrusting a couple more times before releasing himself, burying his cock deep into the other with a throaty groan. There was a moment of stillness, their breathing the only true sound, before the godfather pulled out and glanced down at the ruined paperwork. 

He smirked. "The paperwork is much more interesting when it's covered in you," the godfather mentioned, still full of stamina and energy while the mafioso took another moment to gather himself. The godfather leaned in, placing a soft kiss onto his lips as he undid the knot. He tossed the discarded tie to the side, holding the mafioso's hands in his. 

Yeah, the godfather was more than pleased. 

-

Unknown to the pair, the consort stood outside the closed door, her ear pressed against it with a confident smirk on her face. She pulled away after a moment before simply sliding her report under the door and walking away; she had to find the framer. He owed her fifteen bucks.


End file.
